The Russians Used a Pencil

Sometimes the closest we can get to running away is writing. This is only one example of the many paths a writer takes to run away.

I'm back where I started,
A little more experienced
And a little more desirable,
But I am here all the same.
I think I'll run away to Boston
And start anew.
I'll take the little black dress in my closet
Along with the matching high heels
And flirt my way onto a plane headed there.
Or maybe I'll take a train
And buy a ticket from a girl like Lucy
And sit next to a guy like Mike
Who will tell me stories
From when he was in the army
And offer me a cigarette.
Maybe I'll ride a greyhound
Bound for anywhere
Because they all end up in Boston
On a cold winter day
When the snow is two feet high
And the streetlamps light the way
To a little two-story inn
Next to the bakery,
But I guess it doesn't matter how I get there,
Or where I go really.
It's about what I do once I'm there.
I'll get up and watch the sun
And pick a new name.
I'll dance in the street and play in the rain
Or maybe snow,
It might be snowing then,
And I'll marry a guy on Thursday
And have a honeymoon on Friday
And by Saturday I'll be pregnant
And about a year later
I'll rock Murphy to sleep in my arms
In the little black dress and heels
That I took to Boston.

Reviews

[MollyAger]

One of the best pieces I've read in a long time. Well written and very genuine.

[Jesse Merritt]

It sounds like a country song, but resolves like a folk song.
It would be very catchy with the right chords.